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Three Kings. Группа авторов
Читать онлайн.Название Three Kings
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isbn 9780008361501
Автор произведения Группа авторов
Серия Wild Cards
Издательство HarperCollins
A WILD CARDS MOSAIC NOVEL
Edited by Melinda M. Snodgrass
Assisted by George R.R. Martin
And written by
Mary Anne Mohanraj | Peter Newman
Peadar Ó Guilín | Melinda M. Snodgrass | Caroline Spector
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Copyright © George R.R. Martin and the Wild Cards Trust 2020
Jacket design by Mike Topping © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020
Jacket images © Shutterstock.com
George R.R. Martin and the Wild Cards Trust 2020 asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008361488
Ebook Edition © May 2020 ISBN: 9780008361501
Version: 2020-04-16
for Tom Doherty,
Lord of the Tor,
who brought our universe back to life
our aces thank you
our jokers thank you
and all our writers thank you
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Saturday February 29th
Sunday March 1st
Monday March 2nd
Tuesday March 3rd
Wednesday March 4th
Thursday March 5th
Friday March 6th
Saturday March 7th
Sunday March 8th
Monday March 9th
Tuesday March 10th
Wednesday March 11th
Thursday March 12th
Friday March 13th
Saturday March 14th
Epilogue
Closing Credits
The Wild Cards Universe
About the Publisher
F ASCINATING.
It should have been impossible to ambush Badb, Goddess of War. Every crow in Belfast lent her their senses. She soared over a bleeding city, from one pocket of violence to the next. From the women shaving the head of a weeping collaborator to the screams of a man shot through the back of the knees. The city had half the population it should have had. Its buildings crumbled, paint flaking away except from slogans that every day were refreshed: ‘NOT AN INCH!’ ‘BRITS OUT!’ ‘NO NATS HERE!’
She had caused it all. Manipulating the angry; creating heroes and renewing herself through their sacrifice.
But she hadn’t expected this.
Three teenaged boys with hurley sticks caught her in an alleyway.
‘Hand it over!’ cried the nearest, his voice breaking mid-sentence. He had blonde hair and a shamrock tattoo that might get him killed only three streets from here.
Behind him, a second boy, darker this time, pushed forward. ‘Yeah!’ he cried. ‘We want all of it!’ Despite the braggadocio, this was their first robbery. Badb could tell such things. Their knuckles were white on the wood of the hurls. Their Adam’s apples bobbed and bobbed.
‘Let me get my purse.’
She really didn’t have time for this. Something was very wrong. She left her body, flicking from crow to crow, finding nearby streets to be far too quiet. No bombs went off. No snatch squads screeched out of police stations.
‘Smash her, Paddy!’ the second boy said as she returned to her body. ‘She’s delayin’. It’s on purpose.’
‘I have it here,’ Badb said, allowing a quiver of fear into her voice to make them feel more manly. ‘Please don’t hurt me!’ She knew what they were seeing. An old, old woman. Which she was. With aching joints to slow her movements and additional indignities they couldn’t imagine – constant bleeding from cracks in her skin that only a layer of sopping bandages hid from view.
‘Hit her, Paddy.’
But Paddy probably had a granny of his own at home, and a conscience too. ‘No,’ he said, and licked his lips. ‘Not if she hands over the pension money. An Irishman keeps his word.’
Badb’s arthritic fingers got the purse open as the three boys crowded closer. Inside was a razor blade. With shaking hands, she drew it across Paddy’s throat. While he stared, amazed, still on his feet, she hobbled forward two more steps and got the second boy too.
Badb’s